Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Harshing My Mellow (Pt. II): Partying in the John

A crucial stage of decay in the shelf-life of any serialized form of entertainment is the "two-part episode." Such a gambit generally presages a shark-jumping in the not-too-distant future. As such, it was with some trepidation that I embarked on my own "two-part episode," which I will mercifully conclude with this second installment. However, I rationalize it thusly:

1) I went all the way to Austin. Texas, no less! Once there, I braved heat, trucks, and the sort of smarmy politeness from strangers that I always encounter when I leave New York and which I'm never sure is sincere or not. To do so and not post about it would be like incurring a wound and not lifting the bandage and showing everybody you know.

2) I am supportive of any new bike shop, even if it is part-owned by a celebrity and doesn't really need my support. I'm even supportive of Chari & Co., who also had an opening party this past weekend in New York City, and I wish them nothing but success. (Even though the pictures I see kind of make me sick.) So I figure a new shop in Austin that's actually well-stocked, well-staffed, and worth a visit merits a little attention. I mean, it's no Dah Shop, but it's pretty sweet. After all, where else can you not only buy bike stuff but also look at Tour de France memorabilia and modern art, drink gourmet coffee, and take a free shower all under the same roof? Just add a retired cyclist in Nikes pawing at you and you'll know exactly what it's like to be Ashley Olsen.

3) A "two-part episode" may smack of shark-jumping, but until I actually do a holiday post that starts with "A Very Special BSNYC" and involves all of us learning valuable lessons about love and togetherness I figure my skis still haven't left the water.

4) My anonymity affords me little opportunity to bask in the limelight, so I figured I'd take the opportunity to explore the way the rest of the freeloading, product-grubbing, propaganda-parroting cycling press lives.

So come with me as I take you on a virtual night on the town in Austin.

The sign's to let you know what's inside. The camera is to keep you from stealing. I would advise against any shoplifting attempts. This is Texas and they shoot people for that.

As I was with an entourage and intended to imbibe I left the bike behind and engaged a driver. Also, there was a thunderstorm. Austin's fixed-gear community was undaunted, however. I guess they only put their bikes in the car when it's dry.

As a cycling blogger of some renown I had some other appearances to make before attending the Mellow Johnny's opening. Here at Tsunami I signed stickers and read aloud from a selection of Commiecanuk's comments. Three people showed up, but only to use the bathroom, and there was chips and salsa. I guess that full-page ad in VeloNews was a waste.

I arrive with my entourage at Mellow Johnny's to find that it has transformed itself from an innocent bike shop to a throbbing neon party whore. My entry was only slightly derailed when my 80mm heel got stuck in a crack in the pavement. But I think I still managed to pull it off.

Inside the shop. Way in the background is a big arty thing by Raymond Pettibon and some other guy I can't remember because he didn't have anything to do with Black Flag (I don't think). A little to the left of that is the Naked bike which won "Best in Show" at the NAHBS. There are plenty of photos of it elsewhere so you don't need more from me. I'm not sure if the bike in the foreground with the kickstand has a story, though it may be Five Boro Bike Tour winner Lawrence Orbach's training bike. I'm the guy standing behind the camera with a broken heel.

Can you feel the hot breath of the Apocalyptic Alpaca on your neck? If so, that's because you can actually buy a top-tube pad from Lance Armstrong. Yep, MJ's has plenty of fixed-gear bikes and accessories. Behold the dreaded "Wall of Fixies!"

I was surprised that MJ's was carrying Caloi, though this was the only one they had in stock. They wouldn't let me test ride it either. Oh, by the way, if you visit Mellow Johnny's, don't lick the bikes. Gary Fisher tried it and got his crazy ass thrown out.

What says "party in a bike shop" louder than drinks on a pedal display case? Those Speedplays weren't the only things with lots of float. I too was getting pretty loosey-goosey.

Lance Armstrong's climbing bike from the 2005 Tour de France.

Mock gas tank is triple-butted for weight savings.

The Austin heat was oppressive and I had a nice set of sweat earrings to go with my heels, so I adjourned to the courtyard with my entourage in search of relief. I didn't find it, but I did find the beautiful people of Austin. Well, people of Austin anyway. Hey, I am from New York. I'm used to better-looking crowds.

Since the crowd wasn't really cutting it for me, I figured I'd try to correct things with margaritas. See that? The crowd looks better already.

Here's two more Austin porta-potties. I think they were feeling a little out of place since they weren't mixing in with the rest of the guests. They did relax enough take off their Cones of Smugness, though. I went over to talk to them since they didn't seem to be having that great of a time. And thanks to my innate charm and the miracle of the MargaritaCam...

...those porta-potties became party-potties!

Crowd still isn't cutting it. Time for the MargaritaWineWineCam.

The MargaritaWineWineCam made me very drunk and hungry. I made my way over to a bowl of dip which turned out not to be dip at all but actually a table setting full of gravel in a southwestern motif. It was delicious.

My mouth was now dry from the gravel, so I headed back inside to freshen my drink. On the way to the margarita machine, I was confronted by the shop's dark overlord, his starred-and-striped bat wings spread out menacingly over his minions.

My freshened drink, moments before I toppled headlong into a rack full of Mellow Johnny's bib shorts.

Righting myself, I headed over to chat with Lance. I spoke to him for about 15 minutes before I noticed he had his back to me, and for another 10 minutes before I realized he was in fact a headless mannequin. I don't shame easily, though, and I wasn't really embarrassed until I noticed that I also had about six pairs of bib shorts hanging off of me.

By this time it was beginning to dawn on me that I had had too much to drink. I looked at the wall and grew dizzy. There was only one Maillot Jaune up there, but I could have sworn it looked like seven! This, coupled with the bowl of gravel I had just eaten, was making me nauseous. So I remembered something the mannequin had told me: "If you're going to puke, make sure to do it on Chris Carmichael." So off I went.

I couldn't find Chris Carmichael, but I did find the bathroom. Here's the view as you walk into it. I can assure you this was not helping the state of my stomach. By the way, there are free showers in the bathroom. I did not avail myself of them, though I do think it's a great idea. In Texas, that is. In a more liberal state public showers would doubtless get a little out of hand.

OK, time to leave. Unfortunately, while I was in no condition to walk, there was no way I was going to demean myself by traveling via pedi-cab. So I looked for an alternate means of transportation...

...and found it in the form of this Oakley Death Tank. If you own a car and had it parked anywhere on or around Nueces St. last Saturday night, I owe you an apology. Don't worry, though. The damage should buff right out.

And that's the end of that. I'd just like to send out a sincere thank you to the people at Mellow Johnny's. If you find yourself in Austin be sure to check it out. Just go easy on the margaritas.

Oh, and Oakley people, if you're looking for your Death Tank, try Barton Springs Pool. Because that's where I woke up.

Snob, was the funny-looking guy still there for the party? dark, pinstripe suit, glasses with diamond-shaped rims, white shirt half-way unbuttoned, balding but compensating for dagger-ended mutton shops? he seemed to think he was important, but being unimportant myself, i didn't recognize him.

Anonymous 12:30: Though I risk a flame engaged destructo fest, I love NYC, but I'll never live there or anywhere near it again. I'll visit regularly (cousin in Battery Park City, friends in Brooklyn, and in my defense, no one in Williamsburg). I've lived east coast and midwest, and decided that mid and west is the best. Why? sure, NYC has more culture, but I never got to it 'cause it was such a hassle. Midwest has all the same stuff, just easier to get to. Oh, and I can buy a round of drinks without taking out a mortgage.

That said, I promise to reconsider NYC's supremacy to all when I touchdown again in Newark. Newark, afterall, has the best cab stand to drive you straight to the City.

Snob, you should have been warned, "Don't mess with Texas".But now you've left yourself open for scrutiny: all some sharp P.I. has to do is scan the surveillance films for a New Yorker (trust me, you'll stand out) stumbling around in bibs with two or three drinks in his hands, and you secret identity will be exposed to the world.Gads, man, what were you thinking?So, before you are outed, let me just say, that's a damn fine job of reporting you did, even if you never did find Chris C (or that Mellow Johnny guy)!

Snob, was the funny-looking guy still there for the party? dark, pinstripe suit, glasses with diamond-shaped rims, white shirt half-way unbuttoned, balding but compensating for dagger-ended mutton shops? he seemed to think he was important, but being unimportant myself, i didn't recognize him."

you didn't recognize him because it was the Snob, he is anonymous just like you.

No flames, I'm from Manhatten but have lived in Boston, Chicago (no longer an easy place to get to anywhere from) various other places. You can only find bits of NYC in other places.

It's place best lived in the abstract and not to many literalist's tastes.

Austin was much more fun in the '70s, before all the tall buildings.

Next time fly in to LaGuadia -the approach over CT gives you a complete cross section of NYC - tony homes along the bay and the Sound, crowded neighborhoods, apartments and then just before the flare, Rikers Island. Later, the cab ride past Calvary Cemetery is just the right touch before crossing the East River

...sorry you had to witness the gary fisher 'bike licking' incident...back when the feds got hip to blotter & windowpane, we went to bike acid & that's really the only reason a lot of us got into cycling......bike trippin' had a whole different connotation in those days...

...& ask gf which one of his pals he stole those 'dagger ended mutton chops' from...

It's place best lived in the abstract and not to many literalist's tastes.

Right, because it's not just a big, crummy rat's nest like every (or any) other city in the US. New York means something, and if you don't understand that for some reason, it's because your mind is inferior in some definable way.

If I remember correctly, the episode where the Fonz jumped the shark was, in fact, a two-part episode. I remember how he wore that leather jacket while waterskiing. The Fonz would have looked good on a fixie. Jumping a shark. After a date with the Hamilton triplets.

Snoby, two words... rubber gloves... They come in boxes. You put them on your hands, the grease goes on the gloves, you throw the gloves away. You can even get them in black, just like all those super cool tatoo artists on the teevee use, so you can wrench your bike whilst remaining moody and all depeche mode-ey...

"The super friendly owners, Ken and Yuki, have a good-looking store with some really nice bikes in stock. They don’t build or repair bikes, but if you’re looking for a fancy Japanese track bike, it would be a good place to start.

And Tex, like most people from Texas, you got it all backwards... If you walk into a bike shop and see a mechanic who is not wearing gloves, you need to leave. Because if they do not care about the state of their own hands, how much do you think they care about the state of your bottom bracket? Hmmm, answer that smart guy...

...hopefully "rtms/bsnyc gets austin-tacious" won't be like elvis doing 'blue hawaii'...after the cameras started rolling, it was all downhill & basically over...

...i hate to think of rtms/bsnyc a few years down the line, the shark well jumped by that point, sitting bloated on a fancy carbon fiber toilet seat, laptop cradled over straining thighs, just trying to squeeze out one more meaningful blog...

Tex, again, all backwards... I am typing this slowly so you can understand it... The amount of dirt on your hands is not related, in any way, to your bike wrenching aptitude or to your experience as a mechanic. Or even to your "manliness" or lack thereof. Greasy hands do not make your crank(s) longer. And you have no idea if I am a pretty boy, or a pretty girl, or neither. Or both.

Masi Guy, good to see you're well enough to type. I know the velodrome crash was just a cover story; I *so* told you not to borrow money from those guys to get a new carbon Campy wheelset. Now do you believe me?

And the rest of you, would you cut it out with the "NYC is da awesomest" crap? I live in D.C. and every time you say something like that, it makes the local inferiority complex much, much worse. How bad is it? If John Holmes had lived in D.C., he never would have taken up pr*n, fearing he "wasn't big enough." The local football team nicknamme is a racist slur that the team insists on keeping because they enjoy white guilt. And there's a guy who lives in a big white house here who could nuke the world, but doesn't because he's afraid of what some local NYC fish wrapper would say about him. So stop it with the NYC superiority talk... you're killing us here and it's making all the politicians and hookers act insane.

There is a ghostly apparition behind the camera flash in the Tsunami window. If some loyal reader works for the CIA and has access to photo-enhancement software, our long task of unmasking the Snob may be at an end.

...hmmmm...unless this is gonna be the equivalent of a texas 3 hole outhouse w/ another hole to go, then somebody dropped, ah, the load......i don't see any pictures from the sunday morning invitational mtb ride & bbq out at lance's ranch...

...what...no A-list here ???...are we still pedaling 165's when i thought the whole rtms/bsnyc thing had stepped up to power the 175's...ouch...how can we live vicariously here unless the boss is on the right guest lists ???...

Austin works on one simple concept. You always seem better depending on who your surrounded by. This works at parties, don't stand near the muscle jocks, hang out by the geeks, you look better by comparison. It's all about perspective.

Austin is much better than Crawford or Houston. See?

NYC looks awesome when standing next to New Jersey, ...I'd totally hit that.

BTW, I was at Jenna's wedding, great coke, great friends, great BBQ, GW was successful in marrying off someone that looks far too much like him and a female Alfred E. Neuman. Mission accomplished!

Once, at a similar grand-opening event, a lithesome, lycra-clad woman from New York City offered to introduce me to the wonders of compliant, dimpled effluvium. Being a Midwesterner, I demured politely (secretly hoping she would offer again). Being a New Yorker, see viewed my politeness with an unhealthy suspicion, bordering on paranoia. She called me 'smarmy' and tottered off uncertainly on her stiletto heels, followed by her entourage of poorly manicured, drunken cyclists. I didn't think much of it at the time but now I can't help but wonder...

Did you know that "Mellow Johnny" was Lance Armstrong's nickname? It is a play on "maillot jeune". That is what the French call the yellow jersey that is worn by the rider who is winning the Tour de France.

About Me

While I love cycling and embrace it in all its forms, I'm also extremely critical. So I present to you my venting for your amusement and betterment. No offense meant to the critiqued. Always keep riding!